Good Omens Drabbles
by H.J. Bender
Summary: A collection of 6 drabbles: "Hell of a Night", "Dirty Desire", "Naughty Knickers", "Snow Play", "Swallowed Wholly" and "Snotsicles". Ratings vary for each, mostly T.
1. Hell of a Night

**Hell of a Night**  
**Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Rating:** T  
**Words:** 666 (not including quote but including footnote)

________________________________________

"_I know indeed what evil I intend to do."_

-Euripides  
________________________________________

_France, October 1913_

It was going to be one hell of a celebration.

The board of entertainment Down Below had decided to host a grand ball at the chateau of Louis XIV that Hallow's Eve, by exclusive invitation-only, to celebrate the thirteenth year of the Adversary's new century*. All of the biggest celebrities of the Pit would be there, and even a few of the particularly evil mortals would be granted leave from eternal torment and damnation to attend. Only very successful and important demons were to be allowed into the ball, which was why Anthony J. Crowley was so surprised when he received an invitation in early October.  
_*No one was really sure just why the 20th century was supposed to belong to Him, but nobody was about to ask._

He opened the black envelope, read the letter, stood riveted in shock for a few moments, and then immediately sat down at his desk to write a telegram to a certain friend of his.

_A,_

_Versailles. October 31. Party. Hell on Earth. Big wigs in attendance. Get agents out, keep head down. Will RSVP when all clear. Be safe._

_C._

* * *

_Chateau de Versailles  
All Hallow's Eve_

Crowley was nervous. He hadn't been around this many demons since his last visit to the Pit to get a new corporation in 1910, nor this many officials since he had pulled a stunt with some purloined fruit a very long time ago.

_Maybe I _am _going native_, he thought uneasily, tossing back an infernal brew which guaranteed no acts of instant sobriety at preferred convenience.

Marquis de Sade was there; he and Vlad Dracula were quite the life of the party, inciting a few acts of sexual deviousness and casual violence until the guests got excited and turned the ball into a blood-soaked orgy before eleven o'clock.

Crowley was feeling forgotten and moody, and found a nice dark room away from the carnal excitement where Edgar Allen Poe was recounting macabre tales of death to a small gathering of demons; Crowley proceeded to get himself quietly devastated on absinthe, opium, and wine from Hell's vilest vineyards.

How Dukes Hastur and Ligur managed to find him was anyone's guess.

"Well, Crowley, so this is where you got to, eh?" Hastur crooned as he tossed an arm about the demon's shoulder.

"Wot you doin' hangin' about with these block'eads?" Ligur chimed. "They's ain't no fun. C'mon, we's take you to some _real_ action."

And poor Crowley was too inebriated to decline.

* * *

Anthony Crowley awoke in a dark, warm place with a skull-splitting headache as a man with a deep, monotonous voice droned from somewhere nearby. It took the demon a moment to register the smooth, flowing French and what it was translating to, and then, with a sense of sheer and utter horror, he knew exactly what had happened and where he was. And he had to get out _now_.

He lurched upward blindly and smashed his forehead into something hard. Cursing, he reached above himself, tossed open the narrow hinged door, and sat up.

Blinding light from stained glass windows lambasted him head on, and he clapped his hands over his eyes, hissing like a steaming kettle. A lady to his right shrieked. Then silence fell.

Wincing, Crowley gazed out at the petrified congregation sitting in the church pews, then he turned his head to look at the blanched priest on the altar.

"Aheh," he smiled nervously, and crawled from the coffin with drunken clumsiness. He reeled, tipped it over like a canoe, and crashed to the floor with a groan. He heard a collective gasp, and as he crawled to his feet he realised that it was probably because he was stark naked and had "666" painted down his chest and torso in fresh blood. And he had the single. Worst. Hangover in all of history.

"_Par'on mwa_, everybody," Crowley muttered lowly, stumbling down the aisle as horrified people crossed themselves and mouthed prayers. "I hadda helluva night."

_**Le Fin**_


	2. Dirty Desire

**Dirty Desire**  
**Author**: H.J. Bender  
**Rating:** T+ for adult themes.  
**Words:** 100

When Pestilence (known then as simply Bane) retired in 1931 after penicillin's commercial production, the three remaining Horsepersons were skeptical of his replacement: a pale, thin, androgynous young thing who introduced himself as Weiss in a friendly but poisoned murmur.

Raven Sable didn't like him, but that didn't mean he wasn't attracted to the rainbow glimmer of oily, pallid skin or the noxious liquid that spurted from contaminated loins when he came in Sable's mouth their first time.

Even now, as they lay together after their hundredth tainted union, Sable couldn't deny that he still appreciated a truly dirty boy.

_**Fin**_


	3. Naughty Knickers

**Naughty Knickers**  
**Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Rating:** T+ for disturbing imagery.  
**Words:** 101

_There's no harm in it_, he reminded himself. _It's only a petty indulgence. Perfectly benign._

If Aziraphale had wanted to parade about in front of people while looking like this, it would be quite _another_ matter, but this was strictly a private affair. Nothing was wrong about it. Well… there _was_ the part about being man-shaped, but that never stopped him before.

Locked safely in the back room of his bookshop, Aziraphale smoothed out his fishnet hose and readjusted the shiny black leather bodice, gazing at himself in the full-length mirror.

But there was nothing wrong with feeling sexy, was there?

_**Fin**_


	4. Snow Play

**Snow Play**  
**Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Rating:** T+ for naughty implications.  
**Words:** 100

Rarely did Crowley ever get the better of Aziraphale, but it happened from time to time. Like right now. In public. On the ground in St James Park.

"Crowley, please," the angel said with a shuddering whisper. "I can't stand it anymore."

"Oh, I think you can," came the husky murmur as the demon moved rhythmically along with Aziraphale. "Don't even consider getting off before me."

"My dear," the angel hissed urgently, "my arse is _freezing_."

"All right, fine. I'm finished, anyway."

When they sat up from the ground, a snow angel and snow demon were imprinted side by side.

_**Fin**_


	5. Swallowed Wholly

**Swallowed Wholly**  
**Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Rating:** M  
**Words: **100

Crowley had an unusual talent for swallowing things whole. He attributed it to his serpentine past although he really had no idea where it came from. It had been ages since he'd had the extraordinary ability to unhinge his jaw, but the skill still remained in his human form.

It was quite useful on rare occasions, like when he wanted to see how many devilled eggs he could swallow at one time, or when he had lost at cards and had to perform fellatio to be a fair sport.

Though when playing against Aziraphale, Crowley hardly thought himself the loser.

_**Fin**_


	6. Snotsicles

**Snotsicles**  
**Author:** H.J. Bender  
**Rating:** T  
**Words:** 100

_Russia, December 1916._

It was cold in Moscow.

Two demons dressed in Ushanka hats and svita coats, one tall and lanky, the other short and squat, stood shivering in a snowdrift outside the Kremlin in Red Square. They were awaiting a "contact" to deliver news concerning final plans for the uprooting of a certain dynasty, but being Hell-folk acclimated to warmer climes, were faring poorly in the winter chill.

Finally the taller one said to the shorter one, "L-let's get out of 'ere, Ligur. I'm so b-bloody freezing I've got snotsicles."

"Yeah? W-well _I'm_ so bloody f-freezing I've got _testicles_."

_**Fin**_


End file.
